pins

193 Entries for “pins”

sometimes the days are like walking on pins and needles….I’m waiting, holding my breath to see what happens. the anxiety, the stress of what will happen next. it can all melt away with a glance or a touch – some reassurance from you.

and needles in my toes after I gave you a backrub, sitting on the bed, cutting off the circulation through my ankles as you typed and typed late at night and I was wearing lingerie, trying to get you to bed, but you had to work, same as before, same as always, same as forever.

He slowly pulled the multiple pins out from his wig, and then unclasped his bra. He had to stop this, but he couldn’t. It was extremely embarrassing, he felt as if everyone knew his lies, even though he had a very feminine face. His dresses called to him, and he couldn’t do anything but answer.

She closed her eyes and waited for the pain. “And two and three.” And there it was, long and sharp and silver, piercing her flesh. She couldn’t hide the quick inhalation of surprise and pain, but by the time she was done breathing in it had been placed.

I feel a thousand pins pricking my arms or feet when they fall asleep. They are like tiny little alarms telling my limbs to wake up because they are about to be used. Of course I always get annoyed with those tiny alarms because they make me feel weird but they are just doing their job.

He pulled the hair pins from her hair, each one deconstructing the masterpiece that was her updo. One by one, curls fell. He touched them, never tiring of the silken kinks. Someday they would be white instead of brown, but he would love them just the same.

When you fall asleep inside the circle of his arms,
and you awake but slumber still holds him,
you can’t move, not a muscle.
Your leg is probably full of pins and needles because you’ve slept in the same position all night.
But you can’t move.
You can’t disturb this moment.
Don’t break it. Just breathe it in. This is a moment you can prolong. So hold it in your hands and marvel at it’s simplicity.

Pins tearing through cloth, scratching skin, and nudging bones. Pinned like a butterfly on a corkboard. Purely for looking beautiful. Too rough but she’ll stand still with her chin tipped up and tape wrapped around her ankles, pins in her bones.

I don’t know much about pins. Just that this wasn’t just a pin. Golden paint which was flaking off told me as much. There was a piece of paper stuck inside it which I pulled out. There was nothing on it.
That was strange.
Why would anyone go to the trouble of hiding a piece of paper with nothing written on it.

pushpin paper doll,
my wedding dress tacked on at my clavicles and hips;
polished up from my toes to my lips;
bought out by someone’s daddy’s dowry check
and still nothing to write home about
except poetry that i thought i could grow to mean
pressed between pages like dead flowers
in a diary that i tossed out to sea.

Pins belong in pin cushions. Pins are like things that stitch us together and keep us from falling apart. They hold us into place, especially if we have not yet been stitched. Pins precede finality, in that they are the lay out for our make up but are subject to change when placed under the needle. Pins are pulled out when the stitches are sewn into place, making us unchangeable and forever one way…that is unless one has scissors and decides to cut the surface back open to re-do what’s already been done. Also, pins hurt when you step on them and can get stuck in your skin. Ouch.

Pins, pins and needles in my stomach when I hear hurtful things about the one I love. Pins and needles when I get nervous. Pins and needles when I sew. Pins and needles hurt to touch. Pins pins pins, ouch ohh ahhh.

Well they’re spiky. I wish I’d had pins this morning to pin up my dress before I sewed it up. It would have been really helpful to hold the cloth in place first. But things worked out well enough. I can’t buy too much now because I’m a college student, but when I have my own place, I’ll fill it with useful things like rice cookers and pins.

every morning I wake
a pin falls from my once sealed mask
now for god’s sake
why wouldn’t this happen to you
since the morning it started
i’ve begun to wonder what the mirror will stare
when it finally falls off
but I also do not really care

I sat on a bunch of pins! It hurt so badly I screamed! My mom came running into the living room. The pins in my bottom were her fault. She loves to sew and left all of her pins out on the couch. But she says she didn’t leave them out. My brother did it! I’m gonna get him back!

You create dissections with your words, carefully slicing situations from anterior to posterior. Spreading each part of a problem out upon the table top for all to see, you precisely stick in anatomical pins to label each worrysome part: here the shriveled sack of the stomach, lined with veins and filled with acidic liquid lies, there the careless larynx, spoken hoarse through needless reiteration, and there the heart of the problem, halfway hidden behind a lung, consisting of two colors and two minds. You know you cannot separate the two different views, the blue from the red, without slicing through tough cardiovascular muscle and shedding utterly unnecessary blood.

My mother is an incredible seamstress. Amazing. I will never be as good as her. And she will not live forever. So who will repair my children’s clothes? I suppose I should learn. It would be an honor to sit beside a professional. I love my mother. I will learn to sew.

pins… i sit in front of the mirror.. tonight is the night i say as i slip into my beautiful black mini dress. i apply foundation, eyeliner, eyeshadow, and lip balm. i pin my curled hair into a princess updo as i wait from my prince to ring my doorbell

I’m waiting for you to make the first move. I really can’t wait. I’ve been awake all night just dreaming of the way it will happen.

How you’ll work up the nerve to look in my direction. How you’ll try not to smile as our eyes meet. How you’ll manage to somehow stand next to me at the bus stop. How you’ll fidget and smile and blush.

My day ended badly. You could say that everything was on pins, except that I don’t think that’s any kind of catchall or euphemism so I suppose you can’t. But I digress. Which, come to think of it, I do a lot. Maybe it’s something to do with the babbling. Oh drat! But I don’t WANT to talk about me right now because you have to know about how my brother in law became the most powerful man in the world and killed off twenty percent of the population.

6 am being on the computer all night. its time to get ready, i stand up and look around my room, my desk catches my attention. theres a frame on it, youre holding your late baby sister in you arms. the second i remember how much i miss her, i get pins and needles in my leg. i miss her, i miss you, i miss then…